Cat adopts homeless boy. NEVINS, a proper, British domesticated short-hair cat, is no ordinary talking cat. He is tech-savvy and wealthy. He has a staff. Even so, the world is prejudiced. A lot of people don't like the idea of a cat adopting a human.
Nevins Davenport, a proper British domesticated cat, sat on the windowsill of his three-bedroom two-bath white bungalow house as he always did at three in the afternoon. His tail swished left and right as he watched the children play with the various playground equipment at the Botanical Gardens. The sun sparkled on Nevins’ black fur, creating a beautiful blue hue.
Today was obviously one of those special days, because the tables were set with bright blue plastic tablecloths, which kept blowing off the tables and interrupting the mothers’ conversation. Nevins watched them desperately chase the cloths. The wind blew one over a mother, making her look like a blue ghost. Nevins chuckled. Finally, the mothers anchored them back on the tables using an ice chest and treat bags. Red, yellow, orange, green, and purple balloons tied with string and tethered to a small tree danced in the wind.
On one side of the field, two boys were throwing a ball to each other and when one of them caught it, the other would yell, “Good catch!” Near the swing set, one girl hung upside down from a bar, her long brown hair blowing like fringe in the wind. Others played hide-and-seek, darting behind large rocks and tree trunks, then running fast to get to base which was a giant metal pirate’s treasure chest.
Nevins found the human customs endlessly fascinating, but, one thing in particular caught his keen, yellow-green cat eyes. A young boy stayed by himself in the clubhouse and never played with the other children. Come to think of it Nevins had seen him in the clubhouse before.
The clubhouse, the latest edition to the Gardens, looked like a miniature pirate ship. Volunteers had spent weeks building it using recycled materials. Four, heavy eight-foot fence posts were sunk in the ground and an old red wooden row boat was perched in the middle attached to the posts by sturdy iron hinges. Recycled pine wood was used for the walls, door, and roof. Tree-log steps with a wooden pole railing led up to the pirate’s clubhouse door. A black and white skull and crossbones flag hung from a plastic pole at the front of the boat.
The boy sat alone watching the other children play. He didn’t interact with anyone and seemed invisible to everyone.
“Ok kids, come sit down!” one of the mothers yelled. “The pizza is almost here. Let’s light up the cupcakes and sing happy birthday.”
Nevins watched this strange custom. He thought humans did the strangest things, but this was the strangest. He wanted to get a closer look and smell, so he jumped off the windowsill and went out his cat door which was a small square hole covered by a thick plastic flap attached to the heavy oak front door.
As he emerged on the big front porch, a red Pizza World van with a giant globe on the van’s roof pulled up to the curb and stopped. It played music just like an ice cream truck. Nevins thought it sounded like the music box his human used to play every night. A teenager wearing a red t-shirt with a globe on it that said PIZZA WORLD hopped out of the truck. He carried three large boxes to the children and placed them in the middle of the table. A frenzy of arms reached into the boxes, grabbing slices. They ate fast and talked with their mouths full. Nevins thought the children devoured the pizza like a pack of wolves. No self-respecting cat would eat like that,he thought as he twitched his whiskers.
Deciding to stay on the porch and watch this show, he jumped on the old wicker rocker which had been his human’s favorite place to sit. The momentum of his jump caused the rocker to move back and forth. Nevins had to balance, which is no problem for a cat. He sniffed the air. There was a smell of rain mixed in with the heavy scent of pepperoni pizza. A gusting wind blew his black fur forward. Bad weather was coming.
“Presents time!” The mother announced, her arms loaded with brightly colored packages.
“Yes!” the birthday boy exclaimed, shoving an unopened box of pizza and a cupcake box to a bench. Then he jumped on top of the table and sat down in the middle with his legs crossed. Unbelievable! Nevins thought to himself. My human would never have tolerated such bad behavior!
As the birthday boy ripped the wrapping paper off the gifts at a frenzied pace, the wind blew a blue plastic tablecloth over one box of pizza and cupcakes. The boy in the clubhouse, who was watching the whole scene from the pirate ship’s window, smiled when he saw the cloth cover the food. Why?
The wind kicked up fiercely, and it ripped the paper. Nevins’ ears went back with every RIP, SCRUNCH, and SWOOSH of the paper. A small fragment of brightly colored paper blew through the air and landed on Nevins’ shrubs. How annoying.
The parents rushed in to pick up their children. Each was given a party bag, but one fell under the table. Nobody noticed— except the boy in the clubhouse. The birthday boy’s mother frantically swooped up as much of the wrapping paper and trash as possible and threw it in the trash. But she forgot the pizza and cupcakes covered by the tablecloth. Then, she and her son carried the gifts to their brand new black minivan and loaded up the loot in a side door that opened with just a push of a button. The birthday boy ran back to the tree with the balloons, untethered them, and scurried back to the minivan. They drove off in a hurry.
The boy in the clubhouse carefully walked barefoot down the log stairs. His blue jeans were torn on both knees so that each step he took down the stairs made his knees protrude from the holes. He wore a dark green t-shirt, which camouflaged him whenever he sat in the grass. He walked over to the bench and picked up the pizza box and cupcake box that had been covered by the tablecloth. He carefully placed them on the table, and ate slowly, chewing the pizza and wiping his mouth with a spare clean napkin. That is what I call proper manners. Exactly how a proper housecat would eat. I like this human.
Nevins fights to help Reginald the Raccoon save The Junk Yard. Can he overcome his prejudice against Mrs. Peabody and his Cockney cousin, Harold?
Nevins Davenport, a proper British domesticated cat, yawned and curled up at the foot of his bed where he liked to rest. It was midnight. Time for a long sleep. He closed his eyes and counted tuna jumping. Ah, how relaxing.
This night was like any other. Life had settled into a pleasant routine after winning the court battle for custody of Clay. The annoying newsmen had stopped coming around, and Clay was doing well in school.
As each tuna jumped, Nevins felt calmer and soon he dozed off. Nothing could rouse him from his peaceful slumber.
Except for that persistent scratching at the front door.
One eye popped open. What was that?
“Enough!” he whispered annoyed, jumping off the bed. His tail swished vigorously left to right as he briskly padded into the living room being careful not to wake up Clay. His claws lightly tapped the wood floors. I wonder if I should call Robert? No, there’s no time! I will deal with this myself! I can’t understand why my house is always the target of a burglar! The last time I had to fight an intruder was after the hurricane. I clawed that guy. I am so annoyed with this that I may bring on a full cat fight! Doesn’t anyone know you should always let a sleeping cat Purr?!
He crept up to his cat door, carefully unlatched it, and peeked out. A gust of wind blew in his face. The smell of cedar trees mixed with rain filled the air. He saw two black, furry legs and a bushy silver and black tail.
It was Reginald the Raccoon with Pearl the cat standing on his shoulders trying to ring the doorbell!
“What are you two doing?”
Pearl gingerly hopped down landing on all four legs with a thump.
“We were trying to ring your doorbell,” Reginald explained. “But Pearl kept clawing over it.”
Nevins’s whiskers twitched. “Are you serious?! It is midnight. I know you both stay up at night, but this is ridiculous.”
Reginald took a deep breath and let it out slowly before saying, “Nevins, we have a big problem, and we need your help.”
Figuring he needed a comfy chair to hear their problem, Nevins hopped out of his cat door onto the porch of his white bungalow house. The cool wind blew in bursts; scents of oak and cedar trees mixed with green grass and a refreshing hint of rain. The smell comforted Nevins as he jumped up on his old, white rocker that belonged to his late human, Walter. It was at times like these that he missed him the most. “O.k. What is the problem?”
“They’re going to sell The Junk Yard.”
Both Reginald and Pearl lived there.
“The old man who owns it has decided to move into The Nice Nursing Home. That means his son, Jack, will have control of The Junk Yard. He plans to sell it.”
“So? That fits in with our plans to buy The Junk Yard. How does that warrant waking me from my peaceful slumber?”
Pearl, who never, ever said a word, exclaimed, “Listen!”
Reginald continued. “Jack wants a quick sale, and he doesn’t want to wait for you to get the money together. He called the city. Two men came over. One wore a suit. He kept barking orders to this other guy who wore a shirt with ‘City of Corpus Christi’ written on it.”
Nevins interrupted. “Now, I get it! The city is going to the dogs! And they want The Junk Yard so they can be junk yard dogs!”
Reginald’s eyes widened. “What?!”
Nevins continued. “You said the guy in the suit was barking. That’s a dog!”
Reginald shook his head, “Nevins, I can’t deal with your prejudice about dogs. No! He was human. Barking orders is just an expression.” Reginald rolled his eyes and took a deep breath. “As you know, I sleep in the old, rusty light-blue 1969 Volkswagen van. Pearl sleeps in the office. Well, I was lying down, and suit-guy said he wanted the van. Jack told him he could have it for free if he agreed to the deal. Suit-guy opened the back where I sleep. This startled me. I screamed, he screamed, the uniform-guy dropped his clip board and Jack fainted!”
Nevins nodded. “That sounds like humans. Typical. They always faint.”
“I jumped over Jack, who was sprawled out eagle-like.” Reginald acted this part by lying flat in the chair. Pearl had to jump up on the top of the chair so that he could create the full effect. Then, he sat up and continued gesturing as he spoke. “I dove under a pile of rusted truck parts and peeked out. Suit-guy and uniform-guy helped Jack get up. Suit-guy said, ‘This entire junk yard must go—the stray cat in the office and especially the vermin!’ He called me vermin. I’m losing everything—my van, my life in The Junk Yard, possibly losing my best friend, Pearl. It’s too much. My world fell apart. And I was so sure things were going to work out with you buying The Junk Yard.”
Nevins leaned back in his rocker taking in the gravity of the situation. Ever since his victory in court, people had been turning to him to fix their problems. What would he do?
Suddenly, footsteps crept up the grass toward them, and a large grey shadow loomed closer, closer carrying something huge and menacing. “Jumping tuna!” Nevins exclaimed.